


embark

by museme87



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M, Minor Character Death, Rickyl (if you squint)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 03:47:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10677039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/museme87/pseuds/museme87
Summary: In the middle of an all out war, they lose someone, and Jesus isn't sure how to help Daryl cope.





	embark

“I don’t have to stay, you know.”

As he says it, Paul looks hesitantly at Daryl. He shifts between worrying his thumbnail and staring at the wall, neither of which Paul takes as a good sign of Daryl’s current mental state. Paul feels as if he’s intruding in Daryl’s space if he stays in Daryl’s room to rest up for the next assault on Alexandria. But there’s not a lot of other options, and Daryl had offered. That had been before they’d lost Eric though. 

“S’fine.” 

Sighing, Paul places his things in the far corner of the room to be as least intrusive as possible. His body aches, and he could use a shower to rinse off the sweat and blood. Easing himself slowly into a wooden chair, Paul decides the shower can wait; he doesn’t have the energy for it just yet. 

“I’m sorry about Eric. I know you two were close.” 

Daryl stares at him intensely, his eyes hard and jaw tense. Paul thinks Daryl might strike out at him at any point, the total opposite of “fine.” While he hasn’t known Daryl too long, Paul knows him well enough to understand that he doesn’t talk about anything, doesn’t grieve or respond to trauma like most people might. And when he breaks, he breaks hard like he had that day in Rick’s arms when he’d escaped the Sanctuary. Paul isn’t Rick or even Carol; he doesn’t think Daryl can break in front of him. But he thinks Daryl might be real comfortable lashing out. 

Not breaking eye contact, Daryl takes a deep breath, and Paul almost braces himself for a fight. Instead, Daryl exhales and crumples onto the bed as if his knees can’t quite hold him up anymore. Daryl lets himself fall back, his body lying on messy blankets as he stares at the ceiling. 

Feeling a moment of bravery, Paul stands and joins Daryl, sitting next to him but never really making eye contact. Paul thinks it’s a little ironic how the world went to hell and everyone has lost someone, yet he can’t quite figure out what words might make Daryl feel a little better just now. He’s done this a thousand times—consoled someone. Moreover, he’s good at it. But Daryl is a mystery whose inner workings he has yet to solve. 

And Paul feels a little helpless. Not just because his words are failing him, but because he wants to be able to comfort Daryl. He likes Daryl, probably a little more than he has any business liking anyone. It would make him feel good to be able to share a quiet moment comforting a man that he figures he’s a little bit in love with. This isn’t a position that Paul, as a smooth talker and handsome man, has ever found himself in really; it had always been other men trying to figure him out. He doesn’t envy his old boyfriends this. 

“I’m sorry I’m not Rick,” Paul offers. 

Daryl sits up and looks like he could really punch him for saying that. Paul’s not certain if it’s struck a cord because it’s a stupid thing to be sorry about or if it’s because he’s found a sore spot. He’s seen the looks between those two, especially Daryl’s, but Paul has never been sure whether what’s between them is unrequited, history, or something else altogether. 

“Rick knows what to say to you is all I meant,” Paul clarifies. 

“He can’t fix this.” 

“It’s why I don’t like getting close to people, especially anymore.” 

With his raw admission, Daryl stares at him once again. He’d said as much to Maggie not long ago, but he supposes he feels closer to her than almost anyone he knows now. It’s not lost on him that he opens up about his failures to connect with people to the people who he’s dangerously close to truly connecting with. Sometimes he aches to talk with Daryl about everyday things. Things that would make Daryl shake his head and remind Paul that he talks too damn much. 

“Don’t have much choice anymore,” Daryl says finally. “Either you’re wishin’ you did or wishin’ you didn’t. ‘s all the same when they’re gone.” 

Paul ducks his head. “Sometimes you say really smart things.” 

His eyes shift from his feet to his hand, just next to Daryl’s. Paul’s so close that the barest movement would have their skin touching, and he thinks he’d like that very much. Maggie told him he should think about letting someone get close, though Paul suspects she didn’t mean Daryl and didn’t mean just after one of his close friends died. Paul doesn’t rush into things; he waits for a good time. And maybe there’s no such thing as a good time anymore, but there’s definitely a better time than this. 

Paul swears he’s not going to do anything stupid. He’s not going to take advantage of Daryl’s sadness to proposition him. That’s not how Paul wants this to go down. But he does shift just so, his pinky finger brushing up against Daryl’s own. Paul glances up to see Daryl’s response. Paul meets narrow blue eyes, questioning. They hold the look for a few heavy moments. 

Daryl doesn’t move his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Desus work, though god knows I have half a dozen works in progress on my hard drive starring these two. I'd love to hear what you think!
> 
> Also, hit me up on tumblr. I love talking with people! My twd-centric tumblr is twdholytrinity.


End file.
